Citizen Kent
by UnknownPen
Summary: Clark Kent wakes up one day to find that he's…Clark Kent. No Kal-El. No Superman. What's worse, nobody believes he was ever The Man of Steel in the first place. Could it be he's had it wrong all along? How does a crazy person know they're crazy? R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Citizen Kent**

**_Clark Kent wakes up one day to find that he's…Clark Kent. No Kal-El. No Superman. What's worse, nobody believes he was ever The Man of Steel in the first place. Could it be he's had it wrong all along? How does a crazy person know they're crazy?_**

**A/N: This isn't the most original idea but it's my take on it. Honestly the only thing I truly love about this fic is the title. I also would like to apologise for turning Clark into a mushy lovesick romantic but better him than Bruce, right? **

**Aside from that, even though I've written a bit more than I have actually posted, I have NO IDEA where this story is going. Please give me suggestions as to why Clark might not have his powers but still remembers being Superman. I haven't read the comics, most of what I know about Supes is from his animated series and the Justice League. Keep that in mind.**

**Finally, disclaimer: I own nothing. Even this laptop is borrowed.  
**

Clark Kent watched his colleague, Lois Lane from across the table. She was on possibly her tenth phone call since they had sat down to lunch. In fact, she had barely touched her food, whereas Clark's steak and peas were a long forgotten memory.

Lois hung up the phone. "Sorry," she told her companion for the umpteenth time, laying the phone on the table. She picked up her fork and knife and cut into what had to be by now cold chicken breast.

"It's fine," Clark shrugged. He didn't mind so much that they hadn't really been able to talk. Sometimes, he preferred to just look at her. Lois was an incredibly beautiful woman but she never acted like it. Her violet eyes were rounded by long dark lashes and her raven hair contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. She had a light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, which she covered up with make-up because she "didn't want to look like Pippi Longstocking". Clark smiled inwardly. Hardly. Even in the middle of a hurricane with wind-swept hair and soaked clothes, she still looked gorgeous. And he wasn't just saying that. He'd actually seen her in the middle of hurricane.

That was Lois Lane, intrepid reporter for The Daily Planet. No story was too difficult, too dangerous for her to pursue. She was fearless, tenacious, immovable. And trouble seemed to follow her everywhere she went.

It was a good thing she had her own personal bodyguard, Clark mused. The thought of Superman made Clark a little sad. Lois was madly in love with the Man of Steel, but she barely noticed Clark. He wished that one day she might be in love with him – all of him – just as he was in love with her.

"Are you listening to me, Smallville?" Lois questioned.

Clark snapped out of his musings and focused on her. "Sorry," he said ruefully.

"Forget it," she said, and dropped another piece of chicken into her mouth.

"How can you eat cold food?" he asked her with mild disgust.

Lois swallowed. "Please. Once, on a story in Vietnam, I had to eat live grubs," she told him.

Clark grimaced. She was certainly no ordinary woman. His eye traveled to the corner of her lip.

"You have a little something," he told her.

"Where?"

He pointed at his own mouth, then decided to seize the moment and dabbed the spot of gravy off with his napkin. He did it slowly and gently, as if afraid that he might hurt her. Her gaze locked on his and she got very still. The other customers in the sidewalk café, the traffic, everything else seemed to recede into the distance.

Clark's heartbeat climbed to about the speed of an express train. How was it that he was able to face Darkseid without flinching, but the thought of telling Lois how he felt scared him spitless?

The corner of Lois' mouth turned up in a subtle smile. He smiled back lopsidedly, the charmingly shy farm boy in him peeking out.

"You got it?" she asked in a silky whisper, which, despite the ambient noise Clark heard loudly and clearly.

His smile grew. "Not yet," he thought about answering and then ditching the napkin and using his thumb to wipe away the non-existent spot off Lois' smooth skin. But then

_Rrrrrrrrrrrr!_

Lois' phone rang and her gaze dropped to it immediately. She read the caller's name off the display and furrowed her brow. Clark knew the moment was over and backed away.

"Sorry," she apologized again.

"No, it's—" He didn't get a chance to finish. He sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Lois Lane," she said into the phone.

Clark studied her face. She seemed perturbed but something else, too. Excited, maybe. She kept her tone clipped during the conversation and it consisted of a lot of "rights" and "uh-huhs". Soon enough, she hung up and placed the cell phone on the table face-down, her eyes holding a faraway expression.

"Who was it?" he asked her. He didn't normally ask but he was curious to know why she was so affected.

"Bruce," she replied distractedly. "He's going to be in town next week and he wants us to get together."

Clark bristled. Bruce Wayne. He and Lois had had a brief relationship. A flirtation, Clark would call it. Then he left town and it was Lois who? Now he'd called and Lois was actually in turmoil over that jerk. She clearly wasn't over him. But then who wouldn't want a man who made the covers of Forbes and GQ in the same week?

Bruce was an arrogant prick and a rival for Lois affections and that was enough reason for Clark to dislike him. But he knew something about the billionaire from Gotham that few did. Bruce Wayne was also Batman, a fellow crimefighter. And while Superman wasn't exactly fond of the Bat either, they had collaborated on several missions and he had a lot of respect for him.

A sudden commotion caused Clark to whirl around. There was the strident sound of metal against metal as an old pick-up barreled into the car in front of it, causing a devastating chain reaction. The car at the front was pushed into the intersection, directly into the path on oncoming traffic. A sports car swerved and narrowly missed the sedan only to end up plowing into another car head-on. About half a dozen more cars joined the fray.

All this happened within a matter of seconds. Lois was already on her phone, reporting the accident to emergency services. With everyone distracted by the horror before them Clark knew he could transition into Superman and prevent any more damage. He pulled his shirt open as he had done countless times, ready to spring into action but something stopped him. He glanced down at his chest and started.

There was no Superman insignia winking out. Just a plain white T-shirt. Clark knit his eyebrows. He quickly threw off his tie and shirt and pulled up the T-shirt, just to check if maybe his costume was beneath it.

It wasn't.

Clark's mind was spinning but he didn't have time to worry about it. The crashes had stopped but now there was a pyramid of metal and rubber smack in the middle of the intersection, entombing desperate and injured victims. Costume or no costume, he had to act or people would die.

He thought to himself, _fly. _Nothing happened.

He tried again. Nope.

Clark began to feel desperate. What was wrong with him today?

There was utter bedlam around him. People were running and screaming hysterically. The pile of cars was steaming. In the distance, he could hear sirens.

"Superman! Help!" a voice cried.

That was all the impetus Clark needed. He didn't even know if he could help but he had to try.

"Clark!" Lois called behind him. He didn't turn. He just ran towards the scene. Most people were groggily climbing out of their vehicles. But right in the centre of the pyramid was a lady. Her car had overturned and been crushed and she was being pushed against the roof of her car. Clark did a quick sweep and decided hers was the most urgent case. It became all the more urgent when he spotted clear gasoline pooling on the asphalt. One spark was all they needed for this to become "The Crater formerly known as East and 15th".

Clark crouched. "Ma'am," he called. She whimpered. "I'm here to help, Ma'am. You're going to be okay."

She rasped, "Get me out."

"I will," Clark promised. Clark asked her name. Doris. He asked her what she did. She was a schoolteacher. He kept her talking so she could keep her spirits up. Meanwhile, Clark was working out how to get her out. The driver's window had shattered on impact, but because of the weight on top of the car, Clark could barely fit through it. He tried to get his hands underneath her arms and tugged. She didn't budge.

_Seatbelt,_ he realized. He slid in further, grunting as he was pressed against the woman. He extended his arm so that his fingers touched the buckle of the belt. He pressed the release and heaved. The woman finally slid out of the car.

"Can you stand?" Clark asked, kneeling beside her.

She nodded. Clark helped her to her feet. She was unsteady, but determined. He helped her hobble away from the wreck. On-lookers clapped and cheered.

Clark took Doris until the end of the street where the crowd was gathered. A couple of men rushed forward and took her. People were congratulating Clark, but he had no time to bask in their praises. Once he made sure Doris was okay, he turned back to the wreck.

A hand clutched his forearm, stopping him. It was Lois. Her face was white as a sheet.

"Where do you think you're going, Smallville?" she demanded. Her tone was harsh but he could read the concern in her face.

"I have to check if there's anyone still trapped in there." He motioned to the pile of cars.

Lois shook her head. "The Fire Department's almost here, Clark," she argued. "Listen." Sure enough, the volume of the siren testified to the truck's propinquity. It would be here in a less than a minute.

But even that might be too late.

Clark firmly extracted his arm from Lois' frantic grip. "I have to check," he said, with Superman-like authority. "Stay here."

Lois let him go. Clark meant to jog back to the intersection but fatigue was bearing down on him. He walked as fast as he could and was already two-thirds of the way there when he saw a flame shoot up then spread. Where had the spark come from? He didn't really care at that moment. In the split-second it took him to turn around, an explosion occurred that shook the city. The blast propelled Clark several feet and he landed heavily on the road. Flaming debris rained down around him. Clark braced himself for more explosions but none came. He tried to stand but weariness pinned him to the ground. His whole body ached. Still, he didn't give up.

If someone had died in that explosion, he would never forgive himself.

_God, please…no,_ he prayed.

Heavy footsteps were coming towards him. Someone was asking him questions. Clark couldn't focus. His eyes wouldn't open. He was just so tired.

_So tired_…

_No…_

Just before he blacked out, he thought he heard Lois scream his name.


	2. Chapter 2

White.

White everywhere.

Clark squinted. The light made his eyes hurt. He squeezed them shut and tried to open them again. All the energy he could muster was expended on that simple action.

He groaned. Tried to get his bearings. He could make out sounds, garbled speech. There were people around. He flexed his fingers. They stroked smooth cotton sheets. The smell of ammonia wafted into his nostrils. He must be in the hospital, he realized.

Clark had never been inside a hospital – not for his own illnesses or injuries anyway.

"Hey, there, Hero," someone greeted him. A doctor. Late fifties. Icy blue eyes. Thinning silver hair.

Every muscle in his body tensed at once. His fingers curled into a fist. "What did you call me?" he rasped.

The doctor smiled. "You're a hero, Mr. Kent," he went on. "You saved that woman's life today."

"Oh." Clark relaxed. He was calling him a hero because he'd pulled that woman out of the car, not because he knew Clark's true identity.

"I'm Doctor Milligan," the man said. "You're at County Hospital. You were brought in by EMTs after the blast at East and 15th."

Clark wanted to nod but couldn't because his neck was in an uncomfortable brace. His hand flew to his neck in alarm.

"Oh, don't be too worried about that," the doctor assured him. "It's mainly for the whiplash. You'll only have to wear it for a few days. In fact, you're a very lucky man, Mr. Kent."

"I…am?"

"Yes," the doctor nodded. "Most of your injuries were superficial. Apart from the whiplash, you suffered some bruising, lacerations and a few minor burns on your back. We performed a CAT scan to check for any head trauma but there isn't any. You really are fortunate. It could have been a lot worse."

Clark was barely listening to the doctor now. He had to go. Superman couldn't be lying in hospital for a few days. This city needed him. Clark used all of his might to lift his battered body off the bed.

"Whoa!" the Dr. Milligan exclaimed, pushing Clark's shoulders back firmly. "What do you think you're doing there?"

"I have to go, Clark protested weakly.

"Not right now you don't," the doctor said with authority. "Your body took a beating today, Mr. Kent. You need to rest."

"I can't—"

"Look," the older man said. "We're only keeping you overnight for observation. You can leave first thing in the morning."

Clark sighed. The battle was already lost. He closed his eyes, intimating that the doctor should leave, but found himself being drawn into enervated sleep and didn't open them again till the next morning.

"Good morning, Mr. Kent." A nurse greeted him as she checked his IV. "How are you feeling?"

Clark watched the pretty redhead. "Great. I'll be able to leave today right?"

She tilted her head and smiled. "Sure, as soon as Dr. Milligan Okays it. In the meantime, you have a visitor." Her smile grew.

Clark waited for her to continue.

"It's your girlfriend," Nurse Andrews confided.

Clark's eyes shot up. "My…who?"

"Your girlfriend," she repeated. "Miss Lane? She's been here all night."

Clark blinked slowly.

The nurse disappeared for a second and returned with Lois in tow.

"Girlfriend?" Clark smiled lopsidedly.

"I told them I was your partner," Lois explained with a devilish grin. "They're the ones who decided that meant girlfriend. Who am I to stop them? Besides, they kept me posted on your condition."

She chuckled sheepishly and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "You had me worried there, Smallville."

Clark felt a smile spreading. "I did?"

"Of course, you did," she shrugged and then met his eyes. "You're the only one in that office who challenges me. Whose face would I rub all my by-lines in if you weren't around?"

Right. The tiny flicker of hope in his chest was dampened. "Lois. Something happened yesterday. Something serious."

"Wow. The last book you read "How to State the Obvious"?" Lois rolled her eyes.

Her smirk quit her face at the gravity in his eyes. Her face paled. Was his condition worse than the doctors had told her? Despite her earlier playful tone, she really did care about Clark. She didn't even want to think about going to work everyday and not seeing him there. She may have been brash, rude even at times, but she really did consider him one of the more tolerable in the office. More than that. He was a friend, and Lois already had too few of those. She didn't want to lose him.

Her hand slid to his on the bed. She touched her fingertips to his, willing whatever strength she had to diffuse into him.

Clark tried not to make a big deal out of Lois gesture but it made his heart jump. He permitted himself a small smile and a surreptitious glance before folding his mouth into a hard line.

"That accident shouldn't have happened yesterday," he stated, his eyes trained on a spot on his white hospital blanket. "Not with me twenty feet away.

Lois' hand covered his. "What are you talking about Clark? You did what you could. You saved a woman's life!"

"But I was right there," Clark insisted. "I should have stopped it."

Lois shook her head. "You can't blame yourself, Clark. I mean, really. You put yourself in mortal danger to save somebody's life. That's more than anyone could have asked."

Clark scowled. "I could have – should have – done more."

Lois knit her brow. She didn't know what to say. Why on earth would Clark blame himself for something that was so far out of his control? What more did he think he should have done?

Clark shifted. "Lois," he began. "There's something I need to tell you.

Lois braced herself.

Clark swallowed hard. He knew he wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to tell her for months now. For one thing, it meant that Lois would know that the man she was in love with and the man who was in love with her were the same person. And keeping secrets always takes a toll. But he was a little scared. He was exposing himself. He wouldn't have anyone to hide behind – Superman, Clark, Kal-El. He would be vulnerable and open. In the end, though, he decided it was worth it to finally have Lois know the truth. And maybe she could help figure out what went wrong yesterday.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "The truth is, is that I'm really – Superman!"

Lois eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open. Just how hard had he hit his head yesterday?

It took a few moments to realize that his eyes were focused above her. She followed his gaze to the old TV mounted up on the wall. He slid his hand from under hers and grabbed the remote, jabbing the volume button furiously.

"…Peru. Superman was able to fly all the inhabitants of the villages at the base of the volcano to safety before they were buried by devastating pyroclastic flows. The Peruvian government has communicated its "earnest and undying gratitude" to the Man of Steel…"

"When did that happen?" Clark asked Lois.

"Yesterday," she replied. "Clark, what's wrong?"

His face was pallid, as white as the sheets he was lying on. His usually clear blue eyes were stormy and turbulent. The expression on his face was of shock, devastation and confusion.

"Impossible," he rasped.

"What's impossible? Clark?" Lois was officially scared.

"Impossible," he repeated. He clutched his head and swung it from side to side, still muttering.

Lois watched him worriedly. "Please Clark, tell me what's wrong?"

Clark suddenly grasped his companion's hands and held tight. He stared forcibly into her eyes. "That's me. Him. I'm him."

"Who, Clark?"

"Superman."

Lois' body stilled. She searched his gaze. He was so desperate for her to believe him. It was apparent. She pursed her lips and tried to push down the panic that was rising within her.

"I know," she told him after a very long silence.

His eyes lit up.

She stroked his hair. "You are a hero. You saved Doris Grant. You're very brave."

Disappointed, Clark let go of her hands. She obviously thought he was crazy. And he might be inclined to agree. If he were Superman, how would he have been in Peru and Metropolis? The Man from Krypton could do a lot, but he couldn't have been in two places at the same time.

He leaned back and shut his eyes intimating to Lois that he was done.

She nodded. 'I'm sure you're tired," she told him gently. Patronizingly. "Get some rest."

She picked up her purse. She had to get home anyway. She'd already typed and e-mailed the report of the accident to Perry for the early edition and then she'd spent the rest of the evening getting acquainted with the hospital chairs, whose only purpose, she suspected, was to keep chiropractors in business. She cracked her neck surreptitiously, trying not to let the strain of the night show on her face.

"I'll see you soon, Smallville," she said with a small smile, glancing over at her bedridden friend. His face was carved in marble. She turned away and mouthed an anxious invocation that he would be all right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_For my faithful reading public a.k.a_** pinfeather, Kuchiki-san **_and_** Quill1688 :} **_Sorry for the delay. Real life gets in the way sometimes.  
_

Clark pushed his key into the lock and swung his apartment door open. There was nothing amiss as far as he could tell. He took a cautious step in, followed by another. It was just as he'd left it – anally neat, as usual. He shut the door behind him and headed into the kitchen. Tea was what he needed. Tea would help him relax.

He filled a kettle with water and placed on the stove. Just as he was about to light it, a thought occurred to him. He took a step back, lifted his glasses to his brow and narrowed his eyes at the chrome kettle, sitting peacefully like a hen on its eggs. Nothing happened. Okay, so no heat vision either.

He blew out a sigh. Something was very wrong here. Very wrong. What had happened to his powers? They were all gone.

He switched on the stove and settled into a seat at his kitchen table. He pulled off the rubber band and unfolded his newspaper. That's when he realized he was blind.

He could hardly make out the day's headline. And forget about the actual text; it was just rows upon rows of blurry scratchy lines. Clark slipped his glasses back on and everything came back into focus. He lowered them and everything became fuzzy again. Oh, man. His glasses had always been his disguise – now it turns out he actually needed them.

Seriously? What was happening?

He tapped his fingers to his lips. _Let's think about this rationally, Kent._ It wasn't Kryptonite. Kryptonite was anything but subtle. He'd be doubled-over dry heaving if there was even a gram in the vicinity. Stealing a confirmatory peek at the afternoon sky, Clark concluded that red sunlight was also not to blame. Luthor? Superman had faced his power disruptor once but it had been destroyed. Besides, why would Luthor strip Superman of his powers only to keep him alive?

"It doesn't make any sense!" He flung the newspaper across the room and bowed his head. His image stupidly grinned up at him from the front page under the headline: Planet Reporter Conducts Heroic Save. He lifted the lamp beside him and brandished it menacingly at his image, then sighed and placed it back down. Having a tantrum wasn't going to help him figure out what was wrong.

So Clark did what any self-respecting man having an identity crisis would do.

He called his mother.

Martha Kent's voice had never sounded more glorious to Clark's ears than right then as she inquired about his roughage intake. She was just as he remembered. He could see her in his mind's eye as she chatted, her hair short and silvery, her frame petite, her eyes blue as the summer sky. Her voice reminded him of home, of apple pie, of fields of corn and wheat and it dang near brought him to tears. In this maddening situation, it was the one thing he was most relieved to find unchanged.

"So, Clark, any exciting news from the big city?"

Clark bit his lip. He wanted to tell her about the accident and his role in it, but he decided against it. It would only make her worry. She might be a strong old lady but she didn't need to be stressed unnecessarily.

"Nope, nothing. Same old rat race."

"Is there someone special in your life?"

The man bit back a sigh. This was the same exact conversation he'd had with his mom ever since he'd moved to Metropolis. She'd liked Lana and had been really disappointed when they'd broken up. Since then, she had continued to drop hints about his settling down.

"Even Superman needs someone to love," she would tell him.

That, it seemed now, was another world.

Or was it? An idea struck him.

"No, there's no-one right now,"- Lois' face appeared – "But um, Ma, I need to ask you something?"

"Sure, honey, go ahead," Mrs. Kent prompted.

Clark ran a hand through his messy hair. It hadn't seen a comb since the morning of the accident. Good thing his mother couldn't see him.

"Could you tell me about, er, about the day I… I came into your life?"

She didn't comment on his odd phrasing of the question, just wondered: "May I ask why?"

"Just curious," was his reply.

"Well, it was a Sunday. Your father and I were heading home from church when something fell from the sky. Your father wanted to see what it was, so he stopped the truck on the side of the road and went to investigate. I followed, because, well, I was curious too as to why some unidentified thing would just fall to the ground. When we got there, we couldn't believe our eyes."

"Why, what was it?" Clark urged her. He was sweating bullets, pressing the receiver so hard to his ear that it was in danger of becoming an appendage.

"A bird."

"What?"

"A bird. Just dived to its death. Back then, you see, we had no idea about the effects of DDT. It was mostly just speculation at that point. Anyway, just as we were heading back to the truck, my water broke and I realized I was going into labour. Your father had to turn right back around because we had left the doctor back at church. Thank goodness he always stayed for his third cup of coffee after service. We got to his clinic right on time. It was a quick labour. Forty-five minutes later, there you were: Clark Joseph Kent. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Clark barely registered the nostalgic catch in his mother's voice. His mind was spinning. _So, in this reality I'm Jonathan and Martha's biological child_. Emotions roiled within his breast. A part of him had always wanted this. To be fully theirs, to be fully like them. But now it meant that he was never Superman at any point in his life. So why did he remember so vividly what it felt like to fly? How come he could remember the sound and texture of brick ground into powder as it acquiesced under his fist?

This was either a parallel universe or, and he shuddered at the thought, he might be… crazy. What if none of this was real, including his mother? What if it was all in his head? What if right this moment, he wasn't in his apartment, instead he was strapped to a bed and drugged stupid in some psychiatric hospital somewhere? How would he know? Do crazy people know they're crazy, or does the fact that he's even thinking that mean he's not crazy at all?

It was too much to process and all Clark wanted to do was scream. To holler like something feral.

He suppressed it long enough to politely cut his mother off, sending his love to his dad and then hung up, though his entire being was quaking with tension. He hung his head and grabbed fistfuls of jet black hair. A pathetic groan escaped his lips. His pulse was speeding. His heart was slamming against his sternum. Breathing became laborious. He couldn't decide what he wanted more: to throw up or to throw himself off his balcony and _force_ himself to fly.

"My name is Clark Kent and I am Superman…" the words bubbled out of him and he chanted them desperately. "My name is Clark Kent and I am Superman…"

It grew into a scream, one that was backed by every frustrated nerve in his body.

"MY NAME IS CLARK KENT AND I AM SUPERMAN!"

He didn't care if his neighbours heard him, although it was the middle of the day and most of them were probably out. What was the worst they could do? Call him nuts? Maybe he was. Or maybe every one else was and he was the only sane person left on earth.

The pounding in his skull shoved tears into his eyes but he didn't let them fall. He breathed deeply, feeling an oxygen-fueled calm pass over him. It was something his mother had taught him. He inhaled, stretching his lungs until they began to ache. The trembling died down and he could feel his head clearing. Again, he derided himself for his outburst. Tantrums were not his style, even if these _were_ special circumstances. He just needed to be logical about this, that's all. He was a journalist, after all; more than equipped to handle situations such as these, even without superpowers. A cold confidence began to blossom in his chest, comforting in its own way. Straightening his glasses, he turned the kettle off and retrieved the previously discarded paper. He poured himself a cup of tea and began to leaf through the paper as if he hadn't just been having a meltdown two minutes ago. Skipping the article about himself, he instead turned to page three and the report of Superman's Peruvian rescue. There was a photograph, none too clear. Clark squinted, but try as he might he couldn't make out Superman's exact facial features. A black haired Caucasian male. It could be Clark. He felt his heart swell. But…it might be someone else. He retrieved his laptop and did a web search for images of the Man of Steel. Apparently even in this era of camera phones and citizen journalism, no-one had ever managed to get a definitive picture of the guy. So clearly this guy was more elusive than Clark- as-Superman had been. Unknown hours of fruitless searching later, Clark slipped his fingers beneath his spectacle lenses and pressed them to his tired eyes. Looking outside he realized that night had fallen and the laptop was the only source of light in the room.

He sighed. His eyes were watery and heavy-lidded, probably from staring at a computer screen for so long, but he wasn't ready to sleep just yet. There was still so much left to find. Actually, there was everything left to find since he hadn't technically uncovered anything yet. A yawn escaped his lips, betraying his fatigue. In the end he had to give up, knowing that if he didn't go to bed he would end up sleeping at the kitchen table and his still-healing neck couldn't take that. Besides, he was reporting back to work in the morning. And so, too tired to fathom cooking, he fixed himself a bowl of cereal, and went to sleep, praying that the new day would bring him the breakthrough he needed.

_**A/N:**__ I saw the power disruptor in the Justice League episode "A better world" (One of the best episodes ever) and if I'm not mistaken, they mentioned re-constructing the power disruptor. I figured Luthor had used it on Superman at least once before, maybe in Superman:TAS. It was just a guess._

_Also, no idea if there are any active volcanoes in Peru. Probably should have looked that up but since this is pretty AU, let's pretend that there are._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The elevator dinged and the door slid open.

"Clark!" someone called out. Heads turned, smiles broke out and wave of clapping rippled through the entire floor. Clark stepped off the elevator into the midst of applause, a faint flush already creeping up his brace-free neck. He'd been unable to bear the thought of wearing the thing to work so he'd taken it off. A few people stepped forward to shake his hand or pat him on the back. He nodded and smiled shyly. He was used to being the centre of attention as Superman but this was the first time that it was Clark's name being cheered.

Clark weaved his way through the desks, slowly because everyone insisted on congratulating him as he passed. When he finally made it to his own desk, Lois was perched on it, her legs folded gracefully.

"Hey, Smallville," she drawled, grabbing a hi-liter from the cup on his desk and rolling it between her fingers. "How does it feel to be a celebrity?"

"Strange," he replied with a diffident shrug. "I didn't know that many people knew my name."

"Well, while you're waiting for the key to the city," She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nudged a paper cup towards him, "I got you this."

"Coffee." He picked up the cup and lifted the lid. The strong aroma rose to his nostrils. He inhaled gratefully.

"Two sugars." She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and smiled demurely. The corner of Clark's mouth quirked upwards. Lois was giving him the same star-struck look she usually reserved for Superman.

"Thanks," he said with a giddy quaver in his voice he hoped she hadn't noticed. He lifted the cup to his lips to hide his ebullient grin but before he could take a sip—

"Kent!"

Clark sighed inwardly and lowered the cup. He exchanged a glance with Lois before ducking into Perry White's office.

"Yes, Chief?"

Perry looked up from the article he was reading. His bushy grey eyebrows shot up as if he hadn't expected Clark to already be in his office. He slid off his reading glasses and let them hang.

"Welcome back, son," he stated, standing up. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm one hundred per cent, sir."

"Good. Very good." He rounded his desk. "You know you've done us all proud here at the Planet, don't you?"

"Thanks, Perry," Clark mumbled.

Perry's brown eyes met Clark's and he placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. Clark was surprised by the gesture. Perry White wasn't the touchy type.

He lowered his voice. "It's good to have you back, son."

"It's good to be back."

Perry nodded and squeezed Clark's shoulder before dropping his arm and switching back to his usual don't-you-people-know-the-meaning-of-deadlines editor mode.

"Now, I want that article on the sanitation workers' strike on my desk by four!"

"Sure, Perry." Clark smiled. Despite the fact that Perry's was speaking louder than necessary and that a fleck of spit had landed on the side of his nose, Clark was glad to be back. This felt normal and Clark had been craving normal. He returned to his desk and his still-steaming coffee.

Clark worked steadily for the next few hours. The ambient noise and bustle of the office wasn't enough to distract him.

"Finished!" He proclaimed, punching in the final period with a flourish.

Lois gave him a sidelong glance. "What are you, the Energizer Bunny?"

"Jealous?" he arched an eyebrow.

She scoffed and waved her hand. "Hardly. I just have more important things on my mind."

"Such as?" her partner probed.

"Bruce. He's coming in tomorrow."

Clark's high ended abruptly.

"Oh."

She rubbed her eyes and sat back. "I haven't seen him in so long. I'm nervous, can you believe it?"

"No," he said flatly.

She raised her violet gaze to the ceiling, sighing theatrically. "Normally any guy who took me out twice and then just left would be blacklisted. But I don't know what it is about Bruce; I can't stay mad at him."

_I can't say I have the same problem_, Clark thought dryly. He bit his lip.

"It's his smile," she declared. "That beautiful, rakish, slightly arrogant smile."

Clark examined his midnight blue tie. _Made in Malaysia,_ he observed idly. _Malaysians make good ties. _He made a sound to let her know he was listening.

"Why do billionaires have to be such jerks?" she wondered, folding her arms across her chest. "Why is it one minute, 'You're the only woman in the world', the next it's 'Remind me how we know each other.'"

"It's infuriating," she huffed. "Lex was the same."

OK, that was it. Clark could listen to Lois pine and whine over Bruce Wayne with only mild queasiness. He didn't exactly like the man but at least he had a modicum of respect for him. Lex, on the other hand, was a different matter; he was the embodiment of all the ills of the human race and the thought of him ever placing his filthy, lying lips on Lois made Clark nearly erupt with rage.

Clark shot up suddenly, interrupting Lois soliloquy. He hurriedly excused himself and escaped into the bathroom. _Deep breaths_, he ordered himself. He splashed water to cool his burning face. Already he could feel calm blanketing him. He exhaled loudly.

The sound of flushing water alerted Clark to the presence of another. Jimmy Olsen emerged.

"Hey, big guy," the redhead greeted him amiably. "I heard you saved someone's life! That's awesome!"

"Thanks."

Jimmy rolled up his shirtsleeves, dropped some soap into one palm and then placed both hands under a stream of water. Clark watched impassively until something struck him.

"Jimmy, that watch!' he grabbed his wrist, nearly lifting the poor boy off the ground. "Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from my mom," His voice had climbed several octaves. Lather from his still-wet hands dropped to the floor. "For my 17th birthday."

"Are you sure?" He glared at the kid, shaking him. Clark would have known that watch anywhere. It was the signal watch Superman had given Jimmy. There weren't two on Earth like it.

"Yes!" Jimmy nearly screamed. Clark finally relaxed his grip and Jimmy snatched his hand away, cradling it close to his body. He scowled deeply.

"Dude, what is your problem?"

Clark turned away from him, unable to speak. He bowed his head over the sink. "I'm sorry, Jimmy," he said in a choked voice.

Jimmy grunted. He quickly rinsed his hands, dried them on a paper towel and stalked out of the bathroom.

Moments later the door swung open. Clark jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Clark, you okay?" Kyle Rayner tilted his head, his green eyes showing concern.

"Kyle," Clark spun. "Why aren't you on Oa?"

"On what-a?" Kyle screwed up his face.

"You're not a Green Lantern yet," The larger man whispered mostly to himself.

"No, I prefer the Red Lantern over on Adamson," Kyle replied nonchalantly. "Their Peking Duck is the best this side of, well, Peking."

"Peking is Beijing," Clark corrected him almost automatically.

"Which is why you're the reporter and I'm the cartoonist," Kyle quipped, with a broad grin.

Clark stared at him wordlessly. Kyle's grin flickered and then died. Clark breezed past him.

"Tough crowd,' Kyle shrugged to his own reflection.

Clark made his way back to his desk and sat.

"You took your time," Lois remarked behind the pencil in her teeth. She pulled it out and leaned back in her seat, smiling impishly. "Everything alright? Don't tell me you're not getting enough vegetables in the big city, Smallville."

Clark only managed a dry snort-chuckle, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. "Shouldn't you be polishing your Pulitzer or something?"

"I get it done professionally," she replied with a lazy smile, "together with my Nobel Prize and my Grammy."

Clark's head snapped up. "You're kidding."

Lois laughed and arched an eyebrow at her colleague. "Of course, I'm kidding! You think if I had a Pulitzer I'd leave it with some stranger?"

Clark's jaw dropped. "But…your exclusive with Superman?"

"You mean the holy grail for every journalist in the country." She shut her eyes, lifted her chin and spun her chair. "What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with that man."

Her eyes flew open and she coloured slightly. "For an interview, of course."

There was no need for clarification. Clark's imagination hadn't even begun to wander in that direction. "But he saved you."

"The chopper incident?" she shrugged. "Sure, he swooped in and stopped me from becoming a pavement omelet. But then he was all up, up and away before I could even catch my breath."

Clark froze.

"The guy's all business when he's saving people," she continued, oblivious to her companion's anxiety. "Not one unnecessary word. He's like a robot. Must be why they call him the Man of Steel." She chuckled at her wit and spun once more in her seat but by the time she'd completed the rotation the desk beside hers was empty.

"Clark?" She sat up and craned her neck, scanning the busy newsroom but she only managed to catch a glimpse of grey disappearing into the elevator.

A robot! That was it! That had to be it! Clark had built several robots to take over for him when he was indisposed – deep space missions and all that. Gosh! Finally! Something that made sense. Clark's heart swelled a little. Things were finally looking up.

He barreled down the street, cutting a swathe through the crowds, deep in thought. If it was a robot, he only had to get to the Fortress of Solitude and decommission it. Yeah. Except…his pace slowed. How the heck was he going to get to the North Pole? He still couldn't fly and it wasn't like he could just buy a ticket at the airport. Well, he could but that would take too long and he needed to be there yesterday.

Okay. So he had a problem.

His countenance brightened again and his steps quickened. There was someone who could provide the solution.

"Professor Hamilton!"

Emil Hamilton whirled around and peered at the young man jogging towards him in the University of Metropolis parking lot.

"Clark Kent," Clark stuck out his hand.

The professor switched his binders to his other arm and shook Clark's hand. "You look familiar." He peered at Clark through his thick glasses. Then his brow lifted in recognition. Clark's heart beat hopefully. "You're the reporter who saved that woman a few days ago."

Clark tried to conceal his disappointment. "Yes. That's me. Your office told me you were here. I have something very important I need to ask you."

Professor Hamilton began to retreat. "Sorry, son. Now's not a good time for an interview. I'm due to conduct a seminar on the evolution of bacterial genome structures in – he checked his watch – "ten minutes."

Clark followed. "It's not an interview, Professor, but it is important."

The older man studied Clark's face and demurred. 'Fine. Let's walk and talk."

_Here_ _goes_ _nothing_, Clark thought. Professor Hamilton was his last hope. He had helped Superman construct the robots. Perhaps there was a way he could remotely control the robot without Clark having to go to the North Pole. He glanced upwards and breathed a silent prayer. He needed a break.

"It's about your STAR Labs research," he began. He noticed the professor stiffen slightly but he kept his tone light.

"What about it?"

Clark searched for words but there was no tactful way to breach the matter.

"You and Superman have worked together on several occasions," Clark began.

The tension in Professor Hamilton's shoulders disappeared. His lemon-with-honey coloured moustache curved upwards in a furry smile and he laughed. "Superman? I should be so lucky."

"So you've never worked with him?"

"With _Superman?_ He repeated incredulously. "No, I've never even met him."

"Okay, what about Superman robots?"

"Superman robots?" Professor Hamilton sputtered. He finally stopped and faced Clark.

"The Phantom Zone Projector?" Clark threw in desperately.

"What? You're fishing Mr. Kent, hoping I'll inadvertently let something slip about my research, which, as you well know is classified."

Clark stared back dumbfounded.

"I cannot possibly deduce your reason for accosting me like this, Mr. Kent," Hamilton went on, pushing up his glasses with a thick index finger. "But given what I've read about you in the news I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. A bad tip. Tabloid fodder."

He placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. "You're better than that, son." He turned and walked away.

"Thanks for your time, Professor," Clark said weakly, shoulders slumped.

So much for breakthroughs.

**A/N:** _The sanitation strike was mentioned in the JL episode "Starcrossed". I own nothing. Review please. Thanks._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Bruce Wayne opened the large French doors and stepped outside into the balcony of the Roosevelt suite of the Metropolis Mayhew hotel. It was a crisp morning. The sun was more light than heat but he knew that it would warm up later in the day. He leaned on the wrought iron railing and gazed out at the city. Metropolis gleamed in the sunlight, impressive futuristic sky scrapers so different from the classical Gothic architecture that characterized Gotham. Obviously, he preferred his own city but there were a few things to like about Metropolis, and one of them would be joining him for breakfast in – he checked his Breguet timepiece – twenty minutes.

There was a knock at the door. Room service. He crossed the room to let the waiter in. The man wheeled in a food cart and parked it near the window.

"I'm thinking we should move the table inside," Bruce said. "It's a bit windy out there.

He shed his suit jacket and placed it on the bed. The waiter didn't seem at all surprised that Bruce was going to help him move the table. Most other people acted like billionaires and human beings were two different species. Looking at the guy, though, Bruce could see that he might actually not need his help. Despite his bookish appearance, he was tall and broad.

They lifted the table, both grunting under the weight of metal and marble then the waiter fetched the chairs while Bruce retrieved his jacket.

"Make sure you wipe the table before you begin setting it," he instructed the other man while readjusting his sleeve. He went over to the cart to check if they had remembered the coconut macaroons. Those were Lois' favourite, if he recalled correctly. Satisfied, he grabbed the newspaper off the cart and turned to the business section. There was an article about his meeting with Luthor scheduled for later in the day. He sat down to read it.

It took Bruce a few moments to realize that the table was still completely bare. He glanced up at the waiter, who seemed terribly distracted as if he were plucking up the courage to say something. It happened at least once a week – someone would hand him a business card, or pitch an idea to him…it was usually more amusing than anything else.

"Is there a problem?" he questioned, his eyebrow quirking.

"Bruce, we need to talk," the man said in a low serious voice. Bruce's other eyebrow joined its mate, quite taken aback by the waiter's familiar use of his name. This was certainly not going to be an ordinary pitch.

"I take it you're not a waiter."

"My name is Clark Kent," he said. He paused, as if that somehow explained anything.

All of a sudden something clicked. Bruce glanced at the newspaper he was holding and realized why that name was familiar. "Ah, yes. Lois' big blue shadow. You'll have to forgive me; I've never actually heard you talk."

Instead of offence, Bruce noticed a light in Mr. Kent's eyes. "Big blue shadow?"

_He's a bit slow for a reporter,_ thought Bruce. "All the times I've seen you, you've been in a blue suit. Not counting today, course."

Right on cue the taller man looked down at his "borrowed" uniform.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Kent?" Bruce placed the paper on the table and folded his arms. Despite himself, he was curious. Did he want an interview? Maybe he'd come to warn Bruce not to hurt Lois. Kent's intense glower every time Bruce even addressed her was not lost on him.

Clark took a deep breath. "I need your help with something and it's going to sound strange but just hear me out."

_Here we go,_ Bruce thought, applying a smirk to his handsome face. "Go on."

"I need to get to the North Pole."

It's that way," Bruce answered without missing a beat.

Clark blinked behind his glasses and then continued: "Where I'm going, I can't use ordinary means. I need an aircraft that can go underwater too. You're the only person I know who'd have access to such technology."

He had certainly come to the right place. Wayne Tech was developing just such a vehicle. But it was not nearly ready for testing, not to mention that it was totally top secret. Besides, there was no way Bruce was going to blow forty million dollars on this guy just because he'd _asked_.

Bruce stood and went to the cart to fix himself a cup of coffee. "May I inquire as to the purpose of this excursion?" He calmly stirred in the cream.

Kent hesitated.

Bruce glanced up at the other man. He offered him a coffee, which was refused with a wave of the hand. Bruce shrugged elegantly then returned to his seat. "You can't possibly expect me to help you without telling me why."

"I – I need to get to the Fortress of Solitude."

"…Okay…" Bruce nodded slowly, even though he had no idea what that was.

"You see," Clark stepped forward, leaning his palms on the cold marble tabletop, "I'm Superman."

Bruce would have laughed right then if he hadn't already had coffee sliding down his throat.

"I know it sounds absurd," he went on. "I don't have my powers so I can't prove it. That's what I need to figure out – why they disappeared all of a sudden. I don't know if this is a parallel universe, an alternate reality or what."

Bruce was speechless. The man was ranting like a lunatic. The amusement had been sucked out of the room, replaced with wariness.

"But in the reality I remember, you and I were allies. Friends, even." He paused. "And you were Batman."

"Bat-_man_?" Bruce sneered. "What is that, some kind of vampire?"

Clark shook his head vigorously. "No," he explained hurriedly, "he's a crimefighter, like Superman, except he's based in Gotham."

"Right."

"I know you don't believe me but I need you to trust me. Getting to this world's Superman is the only way I can maybe find my way back to my own reality."

Bruce studied the man's gaze silently. There was desperation in them, but also something else, something surprising – total unwavering conviction. Clark Kent wholeheartedly believed he was Superman. It wasn't a put-on. In his head, everything he was saying was true.

"You want to get to Superman?" Bruce began. Clark nodded hopefully. "Put on a gaudy costume and threaten to hurt a bunch of people."

Clark's jaw dropped. "B-but, you have to believe me. I'm Superman!"

"I'll ask you kindly to leave," Bruce stated dismissively, focusing all his attention on his coffee.

"Please, Bruce –"

He unfolded the paper and resumed reading. Kent was really beginning to irritate him now. "I don't want to call security on you but I will."

"Clark?" Both men's heads swiveled to the door, where a dark-haired woman was peeking in.

Bruce's face lit up. He rose and held out his hand. "Lois, please come in."

She obliged, peering at Clark curiously. He saw her stare wonderingly at his waiter's uniform and avoided her gaze. "Bruce, what's going on here?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from her colleague.

Bruce took her hand, pulled her close and kissed both her cheeks. Clark's eyes, still trained elsewhere, narrowed.

"Nothing important," the billionaire smiled charmingly. "Our business is finished, right Mr. Kent?"

Clark checked Bruce's expression. The smile was still there but his icy blue eyes were hard.

"Yes. Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne." Clark replied. They stared each other down, hackles raised. If it wasn't for the presence of the lady, things might have gone even further than that.

Bruce requested Lois to be seated then escorted Clark to the door.

"Come near me or Wayne Enterprises property and I'll have you thrown in jail."

The threat was whispered so quietly that for a moment Clark thought he'd imagined it. But one look at Bruce and he knew the man meant it.

He resisted the urge to make a rude gesture and instead said, "Don't worry, _Bruce_. I won't be bothering you again."

_Some people might call this stalking_, Clark reflected as he sat in his car, listening to the police scanner Bibo had procured for him from "a friend", _but it can't be stalking if you're following yourself. _ He leaned his elbow on the window and watched the citizens of Metropolis go about their business on the scorching late afternoon. In his other hand he held a copy of Metropolitan Magazine, which he had opened to an article on an upsurge in illegal ivory trade. He'd only read the title before he'd started to relate the story to his sorry situation. Clark Kent without Superman was like a rhino without horns, an elephant with no tusks, a turtle without—

A notice on the scanner piqued his attention. Dispatch was directing emergency services to an address Clark recognized as LexCorp warehouses. Apparently there was a fire in one of the buildings. He briefly thought back to the meeting with Bruce. Days later and it still made his blood simmer. Clark had wanted nothing more than to give that self-important jerkface a taste of his fist. Or even better, melt the smirk off his face with his heat vision. He was even more annoying than the real Bruce. But unbelievably, some good had come out of that disastrous encounter: it had prompted Clark to rethink his approach. Wayne's smarmy "gaudy outfit" remark had reminded Clark of something: Superman followed danger like a dog to a steak. Take the present situation: Explosive weapons, combustible materials and people in danger – it was the perfect recipe. Superman would have to be there. His heart jumped excitedly until he realized he was happy about a potentially-fatal accident.

_You're a sick, sick man, Kent._

Clark turned the key, stepped on the gas and drove. Minutes later he was outside the facility, having parked his car a few blocks away. Only one police car had arrived and the cops already had their hands full trying to coordinate the evacuation of the premises. There were so many people running around that Clark managed to slip in almost unnoticed. There were rows of identical warehouses but only one had a thick cloud of smoke rising from it. Clark ducked into a corridor between the two buildings opposite the one in question and crouched, pressing himself against the wall. He was stupidly close and if the building did explode he could get seriously injured, maybe worse. But he had to be ready when Superman arrived. This time Clark was going to talk to him for sure.

Clark's luck was shortlived. A cop running past caught sight of the reporter huddled in the corner.

"Sir, are you all right?"

Clark flinched when he heard his voice, cursing under his breath. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied. "It's just my um, leg."

"Well, you need to get out of here, sir. It's not safe."

"I know, Officer." Clark rose and leaned on his right foot, lifting his left foot as if he had twisted that ankle. The policeman came and put his arm around Clark's waist. Clark put an arm on the guy's shoulder and began to hobble away as slowly as he could.

"We have to hurry," the cop grunted. Clark nodded but cunningly leaned heavily on the smaller man, effectively weighing him down and restricting their speed. His head pivoted at the sound of shattering glass, just in time to see a flash of red disappear into the warehouse. Soon the windows were painted a silvery white with frost. Ice breath. Nice.

Clark tried to turn but the cop wouldn't let him.

"There's no more danger now," Clark told him. "Superman's put out the fire."

But the policeman was steadfast. "Still, we need someone to look at that foot."

Clark shut his eyes for a second. He was a law-abiding citizen. He'd never so much as received a speeding ticket. Still, unless Clark got rid of this cop there was no chance of him being able to talk to Superman.

Clark shoved the policeman to the ground, whispered an apology and sprinted to the warehouse door. He pulled it open. at the exact same moment, glass rained on him as Superman shot out of the building like a bullet.

"Wait!' Clark yelled. "I have to—" But it was no use. He sighed. He'd just have to get him next time. He turned resignedly but started when he saw a very peeved policeman pointing a gun at him. He raised his hands. The cop cuffed him and led him off the compound into his waiting car. Many more cars had joined him and a red fire engine was parked beside them. Beyond the police barriers was a curious crowd. Clark could bet they were wondering why he was in handcuffs. It was humiliating. To top it all off, he heard a very familiar voice call his name. His heart sank as his gaze met Lois' bewildered stare. He smiled ruefully and mouthed two words to her.

_Bail money._

**A/N: First, apologies for taking forever and a day to update. School's a bit crazy right now and only getting busier. But the next chapter is pretty much done. Hopefully I'll post tomorrow at the latest. **

**Also, sorry about making Bruce so OOC, but in this AU he's billionaire playboy and zero depth. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: Hey peeps. Thanks for your patience. I had actually meant to post this the day after Chapter 5 but it turned out to be a lot harder than anticipated to write. It was only meant to be a few paragraphs but it grew into its own chapter. Mostly it's in Lois' POV. Anyway, Happy Easter all!**

Despite the fact that Clark had to spend several hours in a holding cell, things had worked out pretty well. The charges against him were dropped and everyone at the office thought he was the journalist version of Indiana Jones for going so far just to get a story. That particular line had come from Jimmy who was, rather worriedly, very impressed with the reporter's stunt. Clark hadn't bothered to correct him. It was easier to let them all believe that than to explain the truth. He'd seen how well that had gone down with Bruce.

Lois, though, was strangely quiet through the whole episode. No jailbird jokes, though heaven knows she had plenty of fodder. She was fixated on him – not in the Mr. Darcy way that Clark tended to stare at her (and yes, she _had _noticed), but with her brows knit into a peak of concern. It was only when they were alone in the office, the last two left, that she broached the topic.

"Trespassing, assaulting a police officer – that's more my style Smallville," she remarked as she shut down her computer.

Clark simply shrugged. "Guess you must be rubbing off on me."

"Yeah." She grabbed her purse from under her desk. Clark grabbed his coat but didn't wear it, then clicked off the desk lamp. Bidding the janitor goodnight, they stepped into the elevator.

Lois snuck a sidelong glance at her companion. He had folded his arms and his beat-up coat hung off them. He was staring up at the floor numbers as the elevator moved, with the faintest trace of a smile on his face. He must have felt her staring for he turned and met her gaze. She smiled tightly. He adjusted his spectacles and smiled back crookedly. Lois leaned against the elevator wall and chewed her lip. He seemed so normal. By all appearances, he was still the ingenuous farmboy he'd always been: six- foot-five of wholesome Midwestern goodness. But something about the warehouse fire thing didn't sit right with her. It wasn't that he'd got the story before her. It was the lengths he'd gone to. The Clark Kent she knew wasn't the sort of person to risk jail simply for a scoop. He _lived_ by the book. So what had possessed him yesterday?

He was her partner. They had worked together long enough that Lois could say with certainty that she knew him. She knew that he was a morning person, she knew how he liked his coffee, what brand of gum he preferred, that he liked dogs, that he enjoyed classical music while he did the crossword puzzle. She had good knowledge of his habits and his personality. She'd thought she'd had him all figured out. Then he'd saved Doris Grant and she'd thought, _Wow. Here's a side of Smallville I never knew existed._

But ever since that day, something had been off with him. She couldn't quite explain it. He was a pretty quiet guy but lately he'd become more withdrawn, more distracted. There were times she would catch him staring off into the distance, his brow lowered and a little frown on his face. Then he'd come out of it suddenly and his shoulders would slump as if an invisible weight was bearing down on them. She could tell something serious was on his mind, but she also knew he wouldn't tell her. It was her fault, she supposed. She wasn't one to let people get too close, and vice versa. She considered her and Clark to be friends but now that she thought about it, it was rather superficial. She'd never told him anything deeply personal, like the insecurities that had her trying to prove herself every moment of every day. And frankly, she'd never made him feel like he could confide in her. It was no wonder he couldn't turn to her in his hour of need.

It had taken getting himself arrested for her to realize that she couldn't hold him at arm's length anymore. If she truly cared about him, it was time for her to demonstrate it. He might not like what she had to say but she was going to say it for his own good. She wanted him to go back to his old self, to smile without that shadow in his eyes, to be her Smallville again.

She cleared her throat. He faced her, eyes wide and questioning. It was such an innocent expression. She could almost imagine him as a little boy. He must have been a cute kid.

"Hey, Clark," she began. "Are you alright?"

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

She wrung her hands. "I just wanted to know how you're doing, that's all."

He shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Good, good," Lois nodded. She paused and pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "It's just that, since the accident you've been sort of….distant. Have you spoken to anybody about it? The accident, I mean."

"Plenty of people," he replied. By the tone of his voice, she could tell he was this close to tagging a _duh_ to the end of that sentence.

"No, I mean, like a professional."

"You mean a shrink." He eyed her curiously. "Why would I need to talk to a shrink?"

He forced a laugh but it didn't quite come out right. Hostility resided in his widened blue gaze, despite his best efforts to conceal it. Lois had expected him to get defensive, though not so immediately. People tend to be really sensitive about their mental health. She tried to keep her tone as non-threatening as possible.

"Clark, it's not everyday you put yourself in danger to save a person from a fiery death," she clarified. "That's the kind of thing that leaves scars, and not all of them are physical."

He inhaled deeply before answering. "I hear what you're saying but I'm perfectly fine." He gave her the world's most short-lived smile before turning back to the display above the door. They were about halfway down but he looked like he would have given his back teeth to be out of that elevator already. Lois herself was just about ready to quit. Things were becoming a tad more awkward than that tiny space could contain. Then again this might be her only chance to help him get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him.

She bit her lip and placed a tentative hand on his upper arm. His bicep went taut against her touch but he didn't move away. "I'm sure you think you're fine but maybe the psychological effects of the accident aren't obvious. That doesn't mean there are none."

He didn't respond.

"Clark, why were you at Lexcorp warehouse?"

He moved his arm away. "I told you. To get the story."

"So there was no other reason?" Lois cocked her head to try and meet his gaze but it was set stubbornly on the dull black floor.

"Reason like what?" he mumbled.

She checked his face thoroughly for his response to her next words.

"Superman."

His nostrils flared instantly, his lips thinned into a tight line and his upper lip sprang into a curl. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Lois challenged. "Clark, I heard what you said to Bruce."

He was visibly jarred by that, so much so that he glanced at her. She read accusation in his fierce gaze, intermingled with fear and something else that she couldn't identify. Her face became flushed. Lois had never apologized for her inquisitiveness – it was what made her a great reporter – but that day at the hotel she honestly hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She'd gone up to Bruce's room where she found the door ajar and was just about to knock when snippets of a very strange conversation reached her ears. Bruce was apparently (and sarcastically) telling someone where to look for Superman. And when Lois heard the other man's voice pleading in reply, she'd almost dropped her phone. Clark was stating, in no uncertain terms, that he _was_ the Man of Steel. Her heart began to race like a jackhammer. It was the same thing he'd told her in the hospital the morning after the accident. She'd quickly written it off as delirium from pain meds but now she could see it was a symptom of something else, something serious.

"I think you're obsessed with Superman," she went on. "That, or you're suffering from some sort of Superman complex."

To her utter shock, Clark laughed. He literally threw his head back and roared. Lois stood there watching him, feeling humiliated. Disgustingly, she could feel tears pricking the back of her eyes. _Man up, soldier_, she could hear the General's voice in her head. Her father never had been able to differentiate between his daughters and his men.

"Lois." He placed one arm on her shoulder and the other against the wall of the elevator. He looked at her directly, the mirth quickly fading into a sort of cynicism that was foreign on his face. His tone wasn't as warm as you might expect after such a burst of laughter. "You _really _have no idea what you're talking about."

The elevator dinged – finally- and Clark strode out, still shaking his head.

Humiliation was quickly replaced by anger. _How dare he! _Lois snapped out of her daze and hurried after him, ignoring the guard's greeting at the front desk. Clark had long strides and was almost out of the building when she caught up to him. He ducked into the revolving door before she could say anything and Lois gritted her teeth, irritated.

"Listen to me!" She grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him back. He definitely had a more than a few pounds on her but he did stagger back. She whirled him around. "I'm trying to help you."

"By calling me crazy?" he hissed, casting a glance at a curious passer-by. Clark moved Lois out of the middle of the pavement. "No, thank you."

Lois stomped her foot, not caring how petulant or childish she looked. "I'm _not saying _that. But the accident, it must have triggered something in you. When you saved Doris Grant, I don't know, maybe you got a rush from it and yesterday, you wanted to recreate it. I think you're deliberately putting yourself in danger."

He snorted and shook his head. "What do I need a shrink for? Seems like you've already diagnosed me." He turned to hail a cab. "Besides," he added under his breath, "what do you know? You're probably not even real."

_What the—what was that supposed to mean? _A midnight breeze kept blowing Lois hair into her mouth, only infuriating the young woman more. She bit back a scream. "Why are you being such a jerk? I'm trying to freakin' help you!"

"Because you have NO IDEA what I'm going through!" Clark yelled right in her face so forcefully it almost blew her hair in the opposite direction. He was trembling. His hands had curled into fists. An angry vein throbbed in his neck as his jaw tightened. Lois recoiled, her heart jumping into her mouth. For a second he seemed like he might strike her. But she regarded him defiantly.

Clark backed away from her. He passed his hand through his hair while blowing out a long, shaky breath. He sank down onto the pavement, his head in his hands. Lois approached with caution. She didn't really believe he would hurt her but it was best to be prepared in case he had another outburst. She put what she hoped was a comforting hand on the back if his neck and sat down beside him. His skin was piping hot.

"I'm sorry," he said from behind his hands.

"So am I, Clark," she sighed. "I may not understand exactly what you're going through but I know that you haven't had it easy. I mean, it's not just the accident. Considering what happened to your cousin, I'd say you've been through a lot."

Clark's body snapped to rigid attention. His hands slid from his face. "Kara?"

Lois nodded and reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was an old article from the Briggsdale Bugle that she'd found online. She handed it to Clark. "Maybe it's why it was so important to you to save Doris Grant, or to be at the warehouse yesterday. Maybe that's why you need to feel like Superman."

Clark unfurled the paper and read the headline. His skin paled and his eyes widened. He turned to look at Lois. He seemed stunned and distressed, presumably at her finding this dark piece of his history. She cupped his cheek, wanting him to know she had no judgments. It was the most intimate touch she'd ever shared with him.

"Clark, you can't blame yourself for what happened," she said.

He turned back to the paper he was holding and her hand fell from his face. She watched him read, his palm pressed to his mouth.

"It wasn't your fault," she said gently. "You were just a kid. And I know that you would have saved her if you could."

A tear splattered onto the paper and blurred the ink. His body shuddered and the article tipped off his fingers and rode the wind down the street. It slammed against a wall, so that briefly, above the picture of a smiling blonde girl, the headline was visible:

"_Smallville Teen Killed In Fire_"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**A/N: This is a flashback that expounds on Kara's story as alluded to in the previous chapter. I've taken liberties with their age difference – Clark is only ssabout three years older than Kara.**

"…_I wish I could," Clark was saying, winding the white phone cord about his fingers, "but I have to stay here with Kara."_

_He listened to the other person's reply, and then sighed loudly. "I know. I love you, too. Bye." He raked stubborn jet black strands away from his face with another mournful sigh. He rested his head on the wall._

"_Was that Lana?" A voice asked from behind him. He turned to see his younger cousin with half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in hand. Ordinarily he would have ordered her right back into the kitchen to get a plate but at the moment the sight of falling breadcrumbs was the least of his concerns._

"_Yeah," he replied, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. _

"_Was it about the party at the Old Miller Farm tonight?" she went on behind a mouthful of sandwich. Clark looked away after getting an eyeful of the mush she was chewing._

"_Don't talk with your mouth full," he reminded her. "And yes, it's about the party." _

_Kara swallowed. "You should go." She dusted the corner of her mouth with her fingertips._

_Clark rolled his eyes. He headed to the living room and plopped on the plaid couch. He jabbed at the remote, searching for something to watch._

"_Yeah, right," he scoffed. "And what do you suggest, that I leave you here all alone?"_

_Kara followed her older cousin and sat at the edge of the coffee table, partially blocking his view of the TV. She leaned forward, a cunning glint in her eye._

"_We should _both_ go."_

_Clark stared at her, disbelief muting him temporarily. "Are you insane?" he sputtered. "There is no way on earth I'm taking you to that party!"_

"_Come on, Clark," she pleaded, "I know you want to go. I'm the only thing keeping you home on a Friday night. So let's go."_

_Clark shook his head. "Ma and Pa left me in charge this weekend. I can't take you to a party with _alcohol_. They would kill me."_

"_How would they know?" she pointed out, springing up. "They're in Oregon. Besides, I don't drink. I never have."_

"_That's because you're fourteen."_

"_Yeah, but I'm a really mature fourteen." She set her baby blues on full force and trained them on her cousin. "Please, Clark. I'll be no trouble at all. I'll stay where you can see me at all times, and I promise, I won't touch a _drop_ of alcohol."_

_She could see him beginning to waver. He bit his lip pensively._

"_No," he finally answered. "No way. Those parties can get out of control."_

_Kara laugh was short and derisive. "Out of control? Clark, this is Smallville. Out of control here is, what, letting chickens out of the coop before dawn? Yeah, really crazy."_

_The young man bit back a chuckle. His cousin certainly knew how to bring the melodrama. He watched bemusedly as she went on, her blonde ponytail swinging with every emphatic gesture._

"_Besides, you'll be there to protect me, right? I promise, I'll be by your side all night if you tell me to." _

_Clark finally gave up pretending to watch TV and turned it off. He rose and started towards his room. "No."_

"_Please?" Kara trailed like a puppy gnawing at his heels._

"_No."_

"_Pretty please?"_

"_I said no, Kara." She almost walked into Clark's door as it was slammed shut._

_Clark took a single step forward then raised his eyes heavenward, cursing his spinelessness. _

"_Be ready in twenty minutes or I'm leaving without you!" he yelled._

_He swore he could feel her grinning through the door._

_Clark pulled up to the Miller Farm about an hour later. He parked right in front of the farmhouse with its boarded up windows. There were already dozens of cars there and even before he exited his truck he could hear the music pounding from the barn which was to the right of the house. Shards of light escaped into the night through the numerous holes in its walls. Kara jumped out, gazing at the disused wooden structure with its peeling dark red paint with the same awe one might afford the Taj Mahal. Her excitement was palpable. Lana rounded the front of the truck and slipped her hand into her boyfriend's. She had been pleasantly surprised when Clark had shown up to her house to ferry her to the party but she wasn't sure what to make of Clark bringing his cousin along. She was just a freshman and most of the kids here were seniors like them._

"_Come on, you guys," Kara urged them, her blonde ringlets bobbing. Clark had no idea when she'd found the time to curl her hair. "Let's party."_

_Lana nudged Clark and they exchanged a look before following the younger girl._

"_Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Clark whispered intimately as they walked. _

_His companion's face spread into a slow grin. She was clad in a purple minidress with patterned stockings and topped off with a burnished leather jacket with metal detailing. Her fire-engine red hair had been worn down, shiny and straight. _

_She flicked her bangs out of her eyes and smiled up at her man. "Sure, but you can tell me again."_

_They stepped into the barn and were immediately their senses were assaulted by two things: extreme heat and insane sound. Almost the entire population of Smallville High was there, not to mention the kids who'd come from neighbouring Briggsdale and Trentville. To say the place was packed wouldn't even begin to cover it but Kara didn't hesitate for a minute, expertly elbowing her way through the mass of bodies. Clark called to her before she was swallowed up by the crowd._

"_Remember what we agreed."_

"_Sure, Clark," she yelled back over her shoulder. She shot him a grin, the kind Clark called her lightbulb smiles because they always brightened up a room. He smiled back fondly as she hugged a couple of sophomore girls that he recognized from school._

_Clark and Lana started their rounds. Lana saw somebody she knew from Briggsdale High and went over to say hello. Clark joined his boisterous football buddies. He laughed at Lance, who was obviously a little tipsy. He himself opted for a Coke as he and Pete chatted above the tones of the King of Pop. A while later he was joined by his girlfriend, who after giving Pete a quick hug, pulled Clark out onto the dancefloor. Clark let her lead, at once inhaling beer, soap, perfume and sweat as they waded into the crowd. He was always a bit self-conscious about dancing in public. His girl, however, suffered no such qualms. She swung her head so that her hair fanned out into a cherry red halo. She raised her arms and shook her hips, an absolutely blissful expression on her face. Clark found himself forgetting to dance while he stared._

_When Clark decided to step outside for fear of passing out Lana volunteered to join him. He was grateful to finally be breathing untainted air. There were already a few other couples enjoying the night, making out and such. They walked hand in hand, embraced in the eerie shadows that the moon cast on them from above. They crossed the parking area and went on until they came upon a tree stump, close enough to the barn that they could still see it, but far enough away that they had some privacy. Clark took a seat and took Lana in his lap. She swung an arm around his neck._

"_It's such a beautiful night," she sighed. She rested her temple against his forehead._

_Clark glanced at the sky. The moon loomed large, bathing in them in pale white. The stars gleamed like crushed ice. The spring breeze gently fingered Lana's hair as it blew past. _

"_I'm sure they don't have nights like these in New York," she continued somewhat sadly. Clark stiffened. The subject of Lana's imminent departure was not one he enjoyed discussing. Fashion school had been her dream ever since he'd known her and though he was truly excited for her he couldn't help feeling a little depressed. He just…he didn't know how to be without her._

_He nuzzled her cheek. She turned so that her emerald gaze met his._

"_I'll miss you, too." She stroked his cheek and leaned in._

_Clark's hands tightened around her waist as their lips met. There was so much emotion behind that one simple action that he felt it down to his faded red Chucks._

_A burst of shrill screaming jolted them apart. _

"_What the—?"_

"_Sounds like they let the chickens out," Clark remarked. He had to laugh at Lana's bewildered expression. "Uh, never mind." _

_They were about to resume their prior activities when more shrieks split the air._

_Lana stared at Clark in alarm. "That sounds serious."_

_Clark agreed. They stood up and headed towards the source of the noise. Lana appealed to Clark to slow his pace. He stared at her impossibly high shoes in annoyance, recalling that it was only earlier that night that he'd found them incredibly sexy._

_They were surprised to see people running towards their cars._

_One boy was standing near a brown Cheyenne. His face was ashen and expressionless and he tightly clutched an empty plastic cup in one hand._

"_What's going on?" Clark demanded. _

_The redhead didn't snap out of his haze. "F-F-Fire. Fire."_

_Clark suddenly felt his limbs harden._

"_How? What happened?" Lana asked, her voice taking on a terrified pitch._

_The boy mumbled something about a cigarette but Clark didn't care. He grabbed the kid by his shoulders. "Listen to me," he said tersely. "Get help. You hear me? Go get help."_

_The glaze slipped from his eyes and he nodded firmly, dropped the cup and got into the Cheyenne, churning gravel as he sped away._

_Clark continued towards the barn. "I have to find Kara!" he informed his girlfriend. He frantically searched the faces in the wave of humanity surging away from the barn, his heart already in his throat. _

"_Kara!" he yelled above the panicked din. He could see the fire now, on the south end of the barn. The flames had already risen to the roof and sparks were flying into the sky. Clark tried to focus his attention away from the building and back to the mass of suddenly sober teenagers. He valiantly tried to fight the tide of stampeding students but his progress was stilted. They pushed him back, some literally clawing at him to get out of their way._

"_Kara!" He called again, now ploughing past people with a roughness brought on by sheer blinding fear._

_He caught a glimpse of curly blonde hair on a petite frame and headed straight for it._

"_Kara?" He grabbed the girl's upper arm and whirled her around but it wasn't her. He dropped her arm without an apology, his eyes already scanning the throng. _

She could be anywhere,_ he thought helplessly. He felt close to tears. He could never forgive himself if something happened to her… no, he shouldn't think like that. She was probably fine, just lost in all the confusion. _

_He came across her sophomore friends and felt a tiny sliver of hope._

"_Where's Kara?" he asked them. "Is she with you?"_

_They were all crying, blubbering unintelligibly._

"_Where is she!" he screamed._

"_She – we were all running," one girl narrated in a weepy staccato. She had only one shoe on. "She-she let go of my hand. I lost her."_

"_Where?"_

_The girl pointed a shaky finger. Something like ice began to spread across Clark's body. He turned slowly, almost mechanically to face the inferno. More than half the building had been consumed. Smoke rose thickly into the air. The flames reached high into the sky, casting a hellish glow. Fiery beams crashed to the ground in defeat. It was a loud, mocking fire: hissing, crackling, roaring. The chances of anyone getting out of there alive… _

_No. _

"_KARA!"_

_A strong pair of arms was the only thing that prevented him from running headlong into the blaze._

"_You can't go in there, Clark," Pete told him. "It's too dangerous."_

"_I have to get her," he insisted, fighting blindly but his other teammates grabbed his arms and held him back. He struggled with the fury of trapped wolverine, sweat droplets flying from his face. "Let me go!"_

"_We can't," Pete replied. "You'll be killed."_

"_I can't leave her there!" he screamed. He wasn't afraid of dying. If that's what it took to save her then so be it. But she couldn't die. She was just fourteen. Fourteen. She had her whole life ahead of her. She couldn't die. He wouldn't let her. _

"_KARA!"_

"_Clark." Lana's voice was soft, distant. At the sound of her voice something snapped. He dropped to his knees, tears falling fast. His body was shuddering violently. Lana and Pete joined him on the ground, hugging him as he sobbed 'til his throat burned. His other friends backed away, keeping a respectful distance. If you asked Clark what happened after that, he would have no reply, having been too consumed by sorrow to remember the fire department, the police, the hospital or even getting home that night. The only thing he could see, awake or asleep, was his cousin's beautiful face shimmering behind the flames that had taken her away from him._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Exams - need I say more.**_

Lois was standing at his door, a bottle of Merlot in one hand and the corner of her mouth tilted in a lazy smile. He was a little surprised to see her but stood aside to let her enter. She handed him the bottle and pried off her shoes, only to take back possession of it and go into the kitchen. He followed, inquiring after her weekend visit with her father. Her answer was a noncommittal shrug. While she was occupied with rifling through his cutlery drawer for a cork screw, Clark stirred the steaming chicken-fried rice in the pan and mused.

She was no longer a guest in his home. She walked around with the certainty of a part owner. In just a couple of weeks – had it really been only two? – his relationship with this woman had undergone several shifts. Out of the blue, she had begun to spend a lot more time with him. The first time she had entered this apartment, she had let him do everything for her. But she was back the next day, and the day after that, and needless to say, knew her way around the place within no time. It had irked Clark then, and it still did, to some degree. She was desperate, and transparently so, to "distract" him from his troubles. The plunging sadness he had shown when she brought up his cousin's death had scared her, truly scared her. In a frantic effort to save him from himself, she had begun to act like nothing was wrong whilst keeping him under close watch.

Clark had hated the attention, the careful handling, the condescending pretense that the Superman thing could be "cured" with time. Embers of irritation still smouldered in his breast, her twisting of the screw deeper into the cork mirroring the way she had entrenched herself in his life. Her efforts were earnest but laughable, because if he'd wanted to get away from her long enough to harm himself, it would have been as simple as going into the men's room.

She finally succeeded in popping the cork and let out a laugh. Something else stirred in Clark. He grinned at her, congratulated her. She poured him a glass of wine and passed it to him. They clinked glasses and took a sip. He held the liquid in his mouth for a moment to savour its tart sweetness before swallowing. He watched as she deftly swept back strands that had escaped from her low ponytail and he knew why he hadn't just told her to get lost.

This was the second shift that had taken place. Maybe Lois wasn't always the most tactful of people but her motives couldn't be faulted. Honestly, her level of concern had surprised Clark. Surprised and moved him. She'd even been so preoccupied with him that she'd barely registered Bruce's departure. Clark knew it was immature but the thought made a little bubble of triumph swell in his chest. As they settled down to eat at the kitchen table, he noticed just how tired she was. The weariness of the journey back to Metropolis from the General's home in Connecticut showed in the slant of her eyelids and the delicate stoop of her shoulders. Still, she had refused to let the day pass without checking up on him.

The conversation may have been sparse while they ate but it wasn't uncomfortable. Partly it was because of the soft music playing on his kitchen radio but mostly it was because, irony of ironies, Clark enjoyed her presence. Inasmuch as she was a nuisance, she was also an immense comfort. She glanced up and smiled at him, complimenting his culinary efforts. Freckles stood out on the apples of her cheeks, her lips were a soft, pale pink and her hair kept falling into her eyes but she had never looked more beautiful to Clark.

He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. _Snap out of it! _He scolded himself. He wasn't supposed to be having feelings for her. He reminded himself, as he'd had to do only too often nowadays, that even though they looked alike, talked alike, even acted alike, this was _not_ His Lois. He could imagine her frantic at his disappearance, turning over every rock to find him and pestering anyone who would listen to do the same. He could see her giving up, maybe grieving for him, moving on in that tenuous way one does when they're not sure if someone is dead or alive. Clark was lost in this place, disoriented and with no idea how to get back home. The only thing he knew for sure was that home was wherever She was.

"Are you okay, Clark?" Lois' voice halted his train of thought.

He raised his furrowed brow and forced a smile. "Sure, yeah," he answered distractedly. Her eyes lingered on his face uncertainly until he got up and dumped his plate into the sink. Lois did the same and turned on the faucet. She pushed her sleeves up her forearms while the warm water filled the sink.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked in gentle admonition.

"Clark, you cooked the meal. Let me do the dishes."

He shook his head. "That's not necessary, Lois. I'll just pop them into the dishwasher."

But she was adamant. "Really, Clark, it's two plates and a pan. I don't mind. It's the least I can do." She took the scouring pad and began to scrub a plate. Clark hovered stubbornly.

"Hey," she piped up. "Do you still have that fabulous Kenya AA coffee?"

Catching her hint, Clark moved away from the sink and retrieved the bag of coffee beans from one of the cabinets. He had no idea where it had come from since he'd never been to Kenya nor did he know anyone there, but it was Lois' absolute favourite brew. Maybe she was the one who'd given it to him; he couldn't recall.

While Clark went about fixing the coffee, Lois was finishing up on her end. Draining the sink, she rinsed her hands and disappeared into the living room to get hand lotion from her bag. When she returned she found him leaning against the counter, cleaning his spectacle lenses with the corner of his charcoal gray shirt. She rarely saw him without his glasses on – he looked like a whole other person.

"You should really think about getting contacts, Smallville," she remarked. "You have beautiful eyes." It was true. His eyes were a crystalline azure, framed by dark lashes and moderate eyebrows.

The man before her tried not to blush at the compliment but he could already feel the blood rushing to his face. "Thanks," he mumbled, quickly slipping his glasses back on as though they might somehow mask the flush in his cheeks. He sneaked a glance at her and could see her attempting to hide a bemused smile. Man, he was such a dork.

An awkward silence befell them. From the radio, a smoky female voice floated up and filled the room.

_You've been on my mind._

_I grow fonder everyday _

_Lose myself in time _

_Just thinking of your face_

Lois' face lit up. "I know this artist. I interviewed her for the Planet a couple of years ago."

"She's good," Clark commented.

"She's phenomenal," she corrected him, and he was inclined to agree.

_God only knows _

_why it's taken me so long _

_To let my doubts go_

_You're the only one that I want_

Clark sipped his wine, dutifully listening to the music. It was a soft, slow, earnest song. The singer's voice was raw with feeling, beautifully so.

"Dance with me?" Lois cocked her head at him with a twinkle in her eye.

Clark shook his head. "I don't think you want these earth-shakers on your dainty toes," he snorted, pointing at his own sock-clad feet.

Lois' smile widened a fraction of an inch but her eyebrows were still raised in expectation.

"Sorry, Lois." He shook his head so hard that his hair flopped from side to side. "I don't dance."

She wasn't buying it. She jutted out her hip and placed one hand on it. Her eyes were flashing challengingly as she beckoned him with her index finger.

"Get over here, farmboy."

The expression on her face set his pulse dashing for reasons he wasn't sure he was ready to confront.

_She's not real. She's not real. She is not real!_

Nevertheless he obeyed her and met her at the clearest part of the kitchen. She put her palm in his much larger one and rested her other hand on his shoulder. Clark's touch on the small of her back was feather-light and hesitant. His fingertips grazed her cotton shirt, only barely making contact with the warm solidity of her back. They began to sway and Clark bit his lip, trying to maintain his posture while making sure that he didn't step on her.

She grinned up at him. "See? It's not so bad, is it?"

He swallowed hard.

_She's not real!_

_I don't know why I'm scared_

_I've been here before_

_Every feeling, every word,_

_I've imagined it all. _

_You'll never know_

_If you never try _

_To forget your past _

_And simply be mine_

He had no idea when their rigid hold had melted into a relaxed embrace. The space between them had been steadily closing until now her head was in the crook of his neck. He could feel the silkiness of her hair and the coolness of her forehead against the exposed skin at his shirt collar. Her vanilla-jasmine scent mixed with the faintly floral aroma of the brewing coffee. _This isn't right_, he thought to himself. His brow lowered. _This isn't right at all. _She wasn't His Lois. She was a figment, a dream, a deception of the mind.

"Lois," he began, pulling away slightly so he could look down into her face.

He felt her grip the fabric of his shirt tighter, her knuckles pressing against his back. "Don't, Clark," she pleaded. "Don't say anything."

Clark paused, slightly taken aback by the intensity of her emotion. She was holding him the way His Lois had clung to him the first time he'd taken her flying – urgently, doggedly, like he was the only thing holding her up. She was hanging on to him like she was literally afraid to let go.

There was a hollow feeling in Clark's gut. It would pain them both but he could not let this go on.

"Lois." He pushed gently but firmly. She gazed up at him with knitted brows. He couldn't continue: his tongue suddenly felt like it was loaded with sand. Her eyes flicked from his own down to his mouth. His heart began to thud so violently that in his ears it had all but drowned out the song. She leaned closer and when he didn't move away, she took it as tacit permission and closed the distance between them.

_Not real! Not real! Not real!_

The initial contact was tentative, even chaste, but it was enough to drive all thoughts out of Clark's mind. She drew away and he chased her, pressing his lips to hers with a need that overran any good sense he had. All of a sudden it didn't matter which version of Lois this was. She was real enough for him – what he was feeling was real. It was like he said, home was wherever she was, and he was perfectly fine being stuck in this moment.

_I dare you to let me be your _

_One and only_

_I promise I'm worthy_

_To hold in your arms_

_So come on and give me the chance_

_To prove I am the one who can_

_Walk that mile, until the end starts_

Goose bumps appeared across Clark's chest and arms, prompting the slumbering man to pull his covers up over his bare skin. He turned one way and then the other, finally ending up on his abdomen with his arm stretched out. It was a while before he registered through the dense haze of sleep that his hand lay flat against the unoccupied mattress. He wedged his eyes open and his pupils took a moment to adjust to the cold, blue light. There was nobody beside him and the only sign that there ever had been was a note that lay perched on the pillow. Clark frowned and picked up the paper, struggling in the scarce light to read it. It contained only two words:

_I'm sorry._

Clark threw off the covers and bounded out of his room almost before he realized what he was doing. "Lois! Wait!"

He was just in time. He had caught her with her hand poised over the doorknob, her shoes and bag clutched to her chest. She flinched and froze when she heard him but the most she did was angle her head slightly toward him. Her dark hair obscured her face.

Clark stood hesitating in the threshold of his room. He felt a bit stupid just in his boxers, like there was no way she would take him seriously. He rubbed his hair, the back of his neck, all the while searching for the appropriate words. When he couldn't find them, he took heed of the heaviness in his heart and sighed.

"I'm sorry, too."

She left without any further exchange between them. Clark gaze remained nailed to the spot. Eventually, he stepped back into his room. Letting out a growl, Clark slapped the bedroom door so hard that his palm stung, but it harmlessly bounced off the back wall and sprang right back, slowing to a calm stop.

**A/N: _The lyrics are from "One and Only" by Adele. I don't own the song. No copyright infringement intended. I was also writing by ear so feel free to correct the lyrics._**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

After forty-five minutes of fruitless tossing around, Clark had to face the fact that sleep was just not coming. He was fed up. He got up and hastily pulled on a pair of trousers, shirt and a jacket, swiped his glasses from the nightstand and walked out of the apartment. He had no clue where he was going but he knew he had to get out of there. He was feeling stifled.

The night guard jumped when Clark came stomping down the stairs. _Stupid prick was probably asleep,_ Clark thought. His inner Boy Scout chided him for thinking unkindly of the man but Clark was too wrapped up in himself to care about anyone else. He got out onto the street. At three in the morning it had a lonely, haunted feel to it with only the intermittent lampposts spraying translucent showers of light. Save for the few passing cars, it was also as silent as a cemetery. Clark looked both ways and then decided to go left. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets; the night was breezy but warm.

As he walked, Clark allowed himself to process what he was feeling. Guilt was the overwhelming emotion. Guilt because he had let himself indulge in this illusion. He had let himself forget his mission. He felt like he had betrayed Kara, pushed her to the back of his mind and filed her away. If he was honest, more than a tiny part of himself had felt like just giving up. All his false starts and dead ends were starting to wear down on him. He was getting jaded with all this dimensional exile stuff and he'd started, even _wanted_, to believe he might just be wrong. What evidence did he have that he'd ever been Superman? Really. Memories? People made up memories all the time. It just seemed so pointless. All he wanted was to live his life, this life, whether it was a parallel world, an elaborate dream or even the inside of his padded cell. He was so tired of fighting it.

He ran a hand down his face. Man, he probably looked a mess but the last thing he'd wanted was to look in the mirror and see his shamefaced reflection staring back at him.

He realised that he had been less than honourable to Lois. He should have at least made sure she got home safely. But in truth he'd just wanted to her to leave because the sooner she was out of sight, the sooner he could pretend that no mistake had been made tonight – that lines remained uncrossed. He'd wanted this for a long time, back when he was Superman. He won't even lie, he'd wanted it. He'd only held back because of the respect he had for Lois. Maybe he was old-fashioned but how could he expect her to give herself to him when he couldn't do the same? For one thing, he was two people: both of whom she might have cared about but in drastically differing degrees. More to the point, as long as he was Superman, with all the responsibilities and dangers that came with the role of Earth's Protector, he could never fully commit to Lois. He loved her too much to put her in the line of fire like that and he could not expect her to spend her life with him hidden away in order to avoid being used against him by some psychopathic villain. Terrors like these kept him up at night. He used to think Bruce was being melodramatic and moody when he pushed people away but now he got it. When you love someone, the last thing you want is for them to suffer on your account.

He stopped walking long enough to take stock of his surroundings. He was at the West River, near Centennial Park. It was not by any coincidence, he knew. The waterfront was his favourite place in the city.

Clark leaned on the metal railing and watched the inky black river snake silently along. To the northwest, the multicoloured lights of the Midvale borough shimmered on the water like precious stones. It was a starless night, but the half-moon shone bright and clear. All in all, it was a picture. Adjusting his glasses and zipping up his jacket against the beating wind, Clark once again felt his focus turn inward.

He felt like a douche, he really did. This place, this world, it was what everybody dreamed of: a free pass, a world without consequences. Here Clark Kent could be more than just the name on his mail. He could have a complete life. He didn't have to be preoccupied with saving the planet because that was somebody else's problem. Though he had been Clark longer than he'd been Superman, he'd always felt that the 'civilian' part of his personality had been neglected. Superman was a giant redwood, and Clark was a spindly weed wrapping itself around his branches desperate for some light. In the few weeks he'd been here, Clark had saved someone's life and gotten Lois to pay attention to him (at last). _Clark_, not Superman. For the first time in his adult life, he could be wholly present in all the moments that normal people's lives were made up of.

_It's a convenient little lie_, he thought to himself. _There are always consequences._

He sighed mournfully. The wind picked it up and propelled it across the water. He chewed his lower lip. If only getting rid of his problems was that easy.

_Better head back_, he figured, straightening up. His head was a lot clearer now. Sadly, the introspection hadn't done anything to salve his guilt but at least now he knew what his sins were. Casting a final look at the river, he turned back towards his apartment.

A sudden sound stopped him in his tracks. The noise had come from a darkened alley to his right. It might just be a stray cat, he reasoned, but his instinct told him otherwise. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he wandered into the gloom to investigate.

At the far end of the alley, where the moonlight had failed to penetrate, three men had surrounded a woman, who was pressed up against a wall and clutching her purse to her chest.

He didn't have time wonder what she had been doing out alone this late. Clark shot a quick look around. The streets were deserted. If he didn't help this woman, no-one would, which frankly speaking, was fine with him as he'd just been _aching_ to punch something all night. Propelled by an angry bravado, he stepped into the alley, planted his feet apart and placed his hands on his waist. He cleared his throat.

"Is there a problem here?"

The men jumped and whirled around but relaxed when they spotted him. In fact, they actually started laughing. Clark frowned. Punks like these usually wet their pants when they saw Superman. Apparently, Clark Kent did not inspire the same fear.

"Beat it, Dexter," the most heavily built thug dismissed him.

Clark stood his ground.

"There's no problem here, friend," Another thug piped up, thin blonde hair peeking out from under his worn wool cap. He had a chipped tooth and whistled his S's. "We're all pals here, ain't we doll?"

He glanced at the plump woman. Her chin was quivering and she whimpered pitifully in response.

Clark took a step towards the group. "Just let her go," he said calmly. "Let her go and we all just walk away."

"Get lost, fool," said the meathead now turning fully to face the reporter with narrowed eyes. "We ain't gonna ask nicely again."

Clark folded his arms. "Not without her." The woman's terrified gaze met his and his resolve grew.

"All right, you're asking for it!"

The trio began to advance on Clark. Meathead broke into a jog and lunged at Clark. The buffoon was easily dodged and crashed headfirst into a crowd of trash cans. He was stunned for the moment. Meanwhile, Chip Tooth threw a jab at Clark, but Clark ducked then countered with a punch of his own to the thug's angular face. Splitting pain ripped through his knuckles. _When did human skulls get so hard?_ he wondered. He made a mental note to go for the soft tissue next time_._

Thug number three was the shortest and looked rather young despite his ugly snarl – probably a teenager – with his spiked hair like greasy black grass growing out of his scalp. Still, he wasn't to be taken lightly. He aimed a spectacular roundhouse kick at Clark's temple. Clark, distracted by the pain in his hand, barely managed to get out of the way in time. The eddies caused by the guy's kick actually ruffled Clark's hair, but he crouched and brought the thug down with a sweep to his ankles.

Clark then turned his attention to the woman, who remained petrified against the brick wall. "Get out of here!" He ordered her. She didn't respond. Her eyes widened as she looked past Clark. Clark spun around and met with a faceful of trash can lid. He staggered back and clutched his nose, stars dancing before his eyes. The woman screamed. This seemed to jolt life back into her deadened limbs. Peeling herself off the wall, she hurried down the alley, only glancing back once. Clark opened his eyes only to see Meathead's meaty fist hurtling towards him. He tensed instinctively, but that didn't make it hurt any less when his fist burrowed into Clark's abdomen. All the air was expelled from his body in that moment. He brought his hands to his stomach, doubling over and coughing.

The trio then began to rain blows on him. Clark dropped to the ground and attempted to shield his face. They pummeled him mercilessly but paused eventually, and when they did Clark took the opportunity to try and catch his breath. His nose was bleeding so he drank in large gulps of air and forced them down his windpipe.

Chip Tooth laughed. "Not so brave now, are ya?" He kicked Clark in the ribs and Clark yelled in pain. "Well, that's what happens to heroes."

Clark wrapped his arms around his ribs, writhing in pain. His battered body was desperate for air, but he could only take it in in weary gasps.

"Is there a problem here?" came a voice.

Chip Tooth straightened up. "What is this, deja v—?"

The words died on his swollen lips as he realized who had spoken. The three men stood petrified as a figure floated down lethargically. In less than a minute, all three men had been knocked out.

A red boot came into view as the mysterious figure stood beside Clark. He knelt and placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. Clark lifted his cheek off the damp ground and peered at his saviour through cracked lenses. It was difficult to make out his face; Clark's glasses were nearly useless and the scant light did little to help the situation. Still, it was fairly obvious who it was.

He grasped the hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You…you…me," Clark rasped. The effort to speak was momentous. His addled brain was unable to string together a full sentence, being otherwise preoccupied by the blasts of pain occurring simultaneously in every part of his body.

"It's all right," Superman said gently. "The authorities are on their way."

Clark watched him as he stood. _No!_ he wanted to scream. _Not this time. I'm too close!_

He placed one hand on the blackened grimy wall and with strength from a part of him he never knew existed, pulled himself to his feet. The pain in his side multiplied fivefold when he tried to stand straight and he knew that at least two of his ribs had been shattered. Tears rushed into his eyes as he clutched his side tightly with the other hand. Taking in a deep breath, he shouted:

"Mana at'a het di, Kal-el!"

Clark's voice was raspy, shredded. It felt like someone had wound a rubber band around his windpipe. But his pathetic, arduous call had done the job. Superman had frozen mid-flight, shaken to his very core. It was the last thing he would ever have expected to hear from human lips – from anyone at all, in fact but it could not be mistaken.

The human had spoken Kryptonian.

When Clark saw Superman float back down, his spirits lifted. It may have been four a.m. but for Clark the dawn had arrived. This was it. _Thank_ _you_.

"What did you say?" Superman asked slowly. He swallowed hard.

He landed softly and Clark laboriously hobbled over to him. Even he had to admit that the sight of Superman bathed in light left him a little awed, a sort of avenging angel. It was unfortunate that his spectacle lenses were cracked, but if he could only get close enough, he might not need them. He could already make out dark hair and a square jaw.

"I said," he began, slowly pulling off his glasses. "I have a message for you, Kal—"

His eyes widened and the words died on his lips as his vision cleared and he finally got a good look at the face of the Man of Steel.

**A/N: _Cliffhanger! Sorry ;) Also, obviously that Kryptonian language is totally made up_**_._


End file.
